Fugitive Tilts

Hey, check this out—Ishion Hutchinson’s Fugitive Tilts is a quiet stunner. It’s not just a book; it’s a poet’s soul laid bare, vivid, and unfiltered. Hutchinson, the guy behind those heart-wrenching poems, dives into prose with the ease of a tide rolling in, spinning a tale that’s half love song, half wrestle with the past. He’s chasing the spark of poetry from his Jamaican roots, untangling the ache of home, and tipping his hat to icons like Coltrane and Treasure Island’s restless spirit. The sea? It’s practically alive, murmuring history, whether he’s roaming Senegal or sketching his grandmother’s memory through a Vuillard painting’s glow.

This collection hums with life, like swapping stories with a friend who’s lived a thousand lives. Hutchinson doesn’t dodge the heavy stuff—displacement, memory, the scars of history. Yet he holds it all with grace, like sunlight breaking across waves. Each essay moves to its beat—some whisper, some sting, all true. It’s a map of survival, weaving scattered moments into something whole, like islands linked by invisible currents.

Look, if you want words that cut close, Fugitive Tilts is calling your name. Hutchinson opens a window to his world—poetic, bruised, pulsing with light—and you’ll want to linger there. So go on, pick it up, dive in, and let it carry you somewhere new.